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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673677">put your arms around me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewishcas/pseuds/jewishcas'>jewishcas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Case Fic, Fluff, Human! Cas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:47:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewishcas/pseuds/jewishcas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They hate you.</i> His brain says. <i> They think you’re useless. You’re no help to them. No longer a healer, just an extra person to slow them down. </i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Castiel grips the sides of the sink, his breathing becoming heavier. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>You can’t do anything to help him. And one day, he’ll die. In your arms. And you won’t be able to heal him. </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He squeezes his eyes shut, his knuckles already turning white against the sink. <i>Shut up, </i> he thinks. <i>Shut up shut up shut UP. </i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he opens his eyes, his reflection still stares, taunting him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>302</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>put your arms around me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>umMM i wrote this so long ago and never finished it and finally finished it tonight WOOPEEEEE</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His reflection stares back at him, blue eyes boring into him. There’s bags hanging under his eyes—which is no surprise—Castiel hasn’t slept in days. Being human—it’s difficult. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had been human before. On his own, too. And that was a pretty horrifying experience. Then he got his grace back, kicked a few asses, and all was well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Until it ran out, and he was back at square one. And everything is much, </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They hate you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His brain says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They think you’re useless. You’re no help to them. No longer a healer, just an extra person to slow them down.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel grips the sides of the sink, his breathing becoming heavier. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t do anything to help him. And one day, he’ll die. In your arms. And you won’t be able to heal him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezes his eyes shut, his knuckles already turning white against the sink. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut up shut up shut UP.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he opens his eyes, his reflection still stares, taunting him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel rubs his face and turns on the sink to the coldest setting. Dean had mentioned before that wetting your face with cold water was an effective way of staying alert. He sticks his hands under the faucet and splashes the water against his face, gasping at the temperature. Turning off the faucet, he grabs the nearest towel and dries off. His eyes peek out over the white towel, staring at his still tired eyes as he sighs, placing it back onto the rack.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two knocks on the door allow Castiel to tear his gaze from the mirror. “Cas? You in there?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Dean’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Castiel rasps, “just, uh, washing up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a pause. Castiel counts forty-four seconds before Dean replies. “Are you okay, Cas? You’ve, you know, been in there for a really long time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel reaches for the door and turns the knob, opening it to reveal the hunter resting against the door frame, his eyebrows furrowed together with concern. “I’m fine,” Castiel answers, his voice low. He goes to walk past Dean but is stopped with a firm hand on his chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean begins, and he pushes him gently back in front of him. “Have you slept? </span>
  <em>
    <span>At all?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel averts his gaze, preferring to stare at Dean’s feet. His socks are a dull grey, and it reminds Castiel of how he is feeling. Boring, useless, no life— </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas.” Dean snaps his fingers. “Buddy, look at me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a heaving sigh, Castiel meets his friend’s gaze. Dean bites at his lip and shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You haven’t slept at all, have you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel shakes his head. “I’ve found it...rather difficult.” He runs a hand through his own hair, a habit that formed due to the newfound feeling of fluttering nervousness. “My brain...it doesn’t, for lack of better words, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut up.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An amused snort escapes Dean, and Castiel narrows his eyes at him. Dean quickly shakes his head. “Well, I know what that feels like. Your mind being a constant whirlwind, playing back every situation that you’ve ever gone through. And you think about what you should have said or could have said or how you would have done things differently and all of that good shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel blinks and slowly tilts his head. “I...guess. That’s not really how I would describe it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now it’s Dean’s turn to express confusion. “Okay, then how would you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel looks away. “Nevermind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, I don’t—” Castiel sighs heavily and turns his head back to meet Dean’s eyes. “I don’t wish to discuss it. It’s not of importance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not of—” Dean stares at Castiel like he’s a creature with two heads. “Cas, you need sleep. And if something is eating you, then perhaps talking about it might help, you know, solve it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s eyebrows knit together as his eyes narrow. “Nothing is ‘eating me,’” He replies using air quotes. “If something was, I’d imagine it’d be a lot more bloody.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas that’s—” Dean rubs at his eyes, his hand sliding down to cover his mouth before dropping to his side. “That’s not what that means.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever,” Castiel shrugs. “My point is there’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. Just tired.” He pushes past Dean. “Sorry I took so long. Bathroom is yours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He feels Dean’s eyes on him as he walks away. He imagines that Dean’s disappointed in him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wouldn’t surprise him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a mark on the table. It’s small—probably about the size of a dime, but its color clashes with the table, and it’s fairly noticeable. Castiel stares at it until his vision focuses only on the mark, the rest of the surrounding view becoming blurred and forgotten. He wonders how this mark came to be. It looks like a stain—it’s a dark red. He thinks it may be blood, perhaps from an old hunt. Or maybe it’s actually the marinara sauce from the pasta that Sam and Eileen made a couple nights ago. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel squints. That mark or stain should not be there. It’s pointless, it’s useless, it should be dealt with. Someone should clean it up. Someone should—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s head snaps up to look at Sam and Dean both staring at him. Sam’s eyebrows are knitted together in a form of puzzlement, while Dean has a worried look expressed on his face. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Sam glances at Dean. “We’ve said your name five times. Are you with us right now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s eyes dart around the room. “With you...where?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Dean replies. “We were talking about a potential case. Were you not listening?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s eyes fall back onto Dean’s. He thinks about lying and saying he was, but he knows that’d only cause more complications down the line. “No,” he finally responds, and looks down as he does so. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam leans over the table. “Cas, are you—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s head snaps up. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>His eyes narrow into a glare.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam steps back, hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Oh...</span>
  <em>
    <span>kay.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean snorts out a “yeah, right,” and Castiel focuses his glare on him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just,” Castiel huffs, “tell me the case. I’ll stay focused this time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam clears his throat. “Alright,” he straightens out his laptop. “About ninety or so miles from here, in Greenleaf. Two men killed in an abandoned house. Both people killed entered the house with their girlfriends. Girlfriends recalled feeling cold just moments before they were ushered out of the house. Front door slammed shut and locked. These two incidents happened within a week of each other.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ghost?” Castiel tilts his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup,” Dean replies underneath his coffee cup. “No doubt about it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel furrows his eyebrows. “Why would this ghost spare the two women?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam shrugs. “That’s something we’ll have to find out, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Castiel starts to stand up, until a hand on his shoulder stops him. Castiel looks at the hand, following the arm until he reaches Dean’s face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on, there. I don’t know if you should go.” Dean shakes his head. “You should stay and rest.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel’s voice is low and warning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Dean pushes his shoulder and Castiel falls back in his seat. “Cas, you haven’t slept in days, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re zoning out all over the place. You’re clearly not fine. And the last thing we need is you falling asleep on the job. It’s dangerous, not only to you but to us. You would only—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist tightly as he stands up, pulling Dean slightly down. “Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence,” he growls in his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean stares at him, wide-eyed and shocked. A quick side eye to Sam shows the exact same expression.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel lets go of his wrist. “I’m going with you two. I’m not staying here.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods, “yeah, okay. Sure. Please. We’re um...we’re leaving tomorrow morning.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel turns and walks out of the kitchen, knowing full well that Sam and Dean are about to have a discussion about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Castiel was an angel, the backseat of the Impala was a place where he could try and listen in to Angel Radio, or think about the fate of Heaven. He didn’t focus on the world around him, mainly staring straight ahead at the road or talking with Sam and Dean about whatever “Big Bad” was going on around them at the time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now, the trees are blurry and his eyes feel droopy. The ride is bumpy and his stomach feels a little queasy. His mind is not occupied by Angel Radio, but rather the never-ending taunts of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re useless</span>
  </em>
  <span> echoing around his brain. He takes a deep breath and tries to think about different things, like the pleasant smell of Dean’s cologne or the beautiful blue of the sky above them. But the whispers of his mind are loud, and as he looks toward the front of the car and sees Dean’s focused face in the rearview mirror, he hears them building.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should have stayed home. You’re being a nuisance. You’re not up for this hunt. He’s angry at you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel feels his chest tighten, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>painful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He tries to steady his breaths, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to focus on literally anything else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Cas.” Sam’s voice cuts in. Castiel opens his eyes to see Sam looking back at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to go to a motel first and check in and figure out a game plan.” Sam tells him. “Just letting you know ahead of time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel nods. There’s still a dull pain in his chest, but Sam’s soft voice seems to have caused it to dwindle. “Okay. Sounds good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam turns his head to Dean. “What kind of room? Double with a couch? Probably less expensive than two rooms.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dean’s voice is gruff. “I’ll take the couch. You and Cas take the beds.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel sighs heavily. “No, Dean. You know the couch hurts your back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t up for an argument, Cas.” Dean peers through the rearview mirror, meeting Castiel’s eyes. “You’re sleeping in a bed. If my back is too bad, and we stay here for more than one night, then I’m sure Sam will switch with me. You don’t get a say in the matter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel huffs. “I find that hardly fair.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Life ain’t fair, Cas.” Dean points out, his voice softening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel presses his head against the window once more, an “I know,” muttered under his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The motel is dingy but certainly not the worst Castiel has seen over the years. There’s brown curtains hanging loosely over the window, smattered with a speckled pattern. There’s two full sized beds with a wooden nightstand in between them, a small lamp with a shredded lampshade resting on top of it. By the window lies a couch with faded blue cushions, and one of them has a very peculiar stain that tugs at Castiel’s stomach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turns around and sees Sam plopping his things on the bed closest to the window and rummaging through them, pulling out his laptop and placing it on the table nearby. Dean walks over toward the couch and practically throws his own things on top of it. Castiel raises his eyebrows at him, a silent </span>
  <em>
    <span>are you sure you wanna sleep on this thing?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean smirks and pats Castiel’s shoulder twice. “I’ve slept on worse. Besides, it’s only a ghost. Chances are, we’re only here a short amount of time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s a ghost,” Sam chimes in. “We don’t know for certain.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, come on,” Dean shrugs off his coat and starts searching through his bag. “Cold? Abandoned house? It screams ghost.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam rolls his eyes and lets out an amused chuckle. “Okay, so, do we wanna split up? Each check out the witnesses? It says here that the two witnesses are Kendra Smalls, twenty-six, and Riley Heartings, seventeen. Kendra Smalls was with her fiance, Robert Oldin, twenty-eight and Riley was with her boyfriend of three months, Philip Anglewood, also seventeen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean casts a look at Castiel before nodding. “Yeah, splitting up sounds good. You check out the teenager. Cas and I will go see Kendra.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam makes a face. “Of course, you’re sticking me with the teenager.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean grins and turns to face Casiel. “Get your suit on, we’re FBI-ing this joint.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel nods and weakly returns the smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam typing wildly on his computer, becoming engrossed in the screen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Dean’s voice is low, and Castiel reverts his gaze back to Dean. “You sure you’re down for this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean. I told you, I’m fine. I’m not a baby. I don’t need you to parent me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean scoffs and starts to pull out a suit from his bag. “Not parenting you, just worried. You’re, you know, featherless now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“As if I needed a reminder,” Castiel says sharply. His hand brushes through his hair, leaving it sticking up slightly in a bunch of directions. Dean frowns, his eyebrows arching upwards.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, you’ve been doing that a lot lately.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Doing what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” Dean mimics the movement, brushing his hand through his own hair. “This. You’ve never really done that before.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel shrugs. “Perhaps it is just an added side effect to being human, I suppose. I guess it’s a habit I must have developed. I know humans tend to have those, like biting nails or cracking joints.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmph,” Dean shrugs, “guess you’re right. It’s just—it’s making your hair look all...messy. ”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Castiel feels heat on his cheeks. “Is that a bad thing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Dean answers. “No, not at all. It’s...uh...it’s a good look on you. Reminds me of the you I first met.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam lets out a snicker, and Dean turns to glare at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Castiel says, and he brushes his hand through his hair again. It seems to happen after he feels a tug in his stomach. “I appreciate it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam closes his laptop, causing a click to echo the room. “Alright, are we almost ready? We should head out and then probably meet for lunch.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good plan,” Dean replies. “Let’s get ready.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel walks towards his bag and grabs the neatly folded suit. His heart is racing for some reason—he can’t exactly pinpoint it. He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut as he does so, and tries to tell himself that everything will be fine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They’ll get hurt. They’ll get hurt and you won’t be able to do anything about it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel opens his eyes and sees his hands gripping the suit tightly, causing wrinkles. He unclenches it, sighing heavily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, listen up.” Dean shifts in his seat to look at Castiel, who is looking warily at the white-painted house across the street from where they’re parked. Castiel tears his eyes away to look at Dean, who fumbles around in his pocket to find a badge and hand it over. “You’re Agent Lovett and I’m Agent Mumford. We’re here to speak to Kendra Smalls. Now, since the attack happened just over a week ago, she’s bound to be a bit hysterical. Stick to the basics, do not tell her the truth.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel takes the badge and huffs. “I know how to interrogate, Dean. I’ve watched you two for years.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean opens the door with a smirk. “Just a reminder to not weird anyone out.” He steps out of the car and adjusts his collar and tie. Castiel mimics the action and shuts the car door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Dean closes his own door. “Let’s get going.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel swallows heavily as he walks across the street, keeping a slight distance behind Dean. His palms are sweaty for some reason, and he quickly wipes them on his suit jacket. There’s that tightening feeling in his chest again, and he tries to focus more on Dean’s strutting figure in front of him, with his shoulders broad and filled with confidence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They reach the door and Dean turns his head to wait for Castiel to catch up. When he does, he raps on the door twice. A dog barks inside the house and there’s footsteps racing around. Castiel counts to himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>About fifty-two seconds later, the locks on the door click and it opens to reveal a young woman with dirty-blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a stained, maroon sweatshirt and ripped jeans. Her face is red and blotchy, most likely due to crying. Castiel feels his own heart break for her—this must be the woman who lost her fiance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” she says, and she wipes her face. Her voice sounds broken. “May I help you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kendra Smalls?” Dean asks, and she nods. “I’m Agent Mumford, and this is my partner Agent Lovett. We’re here to ask you a few questions about the incident that occurred a week ago with your fiance. Will you be willing to answer?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kendra sniffles, covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve. Castiel tilts his head, noting to himself that the sweatshirt is at least two sizes too big for her. Her sleeve is hanging over her hand. “Yeah,” she manages after a brief pause. “Yeah, come in. The dog is outside, so no need to worry about him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel enters first, and he finds himself glancing around the foyer. There are several pictures hanging up, each of them consisting of Kendra and another man that Castiel can only assume is her late fiance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s hand finds the small of Castiel’s back and pushes him gently forward, motioning him to follow Kendra into what appears to be her living room. And even when his hand leaves his back, Castiel swears he can feel the ghost of his touch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for my appearance,” Kendra begins as she sits in the chair across from the couch, where Dean and Castiel sit down. “I’m a bit of a mess, you know, since the whole event.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We can assume so,” Dean replies. “We’ve heard it was a gruesome experience.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you—” Castiel clears his throat after his words come out raspy. “Can you walk us through the events of that night?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kendra bites at her lip and sighs. “You wouldn’t believe me. Nobody does.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Try us,” Dean smiles gently. “We’ve seen a lot of stuff on the job. Tell us everything, and don’t hold back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kendra nods, a tear slipping out from underneath her right eye. She wipes it with her sleeve and takes a deep breath. “Robby and I were out celebrating a friend’s birthday at the Moonrise bar just a few blocks away from the...you know...house. We both had been drinking rather heavily, and we decided that we would rather walk back to our place then get an Uber. It wasn’t that far, maybe four miles or so. And we were laughing, and having a good time—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice raises at the end, cracking slightly. She holds up a finger and reaches for a tissue. Dean nods and tells her to take her time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We winded up in f-front of the house. The abandoned house. It’s um,” Kendra coughs twice into her sleeve. “It’s pretty famous around here. And Robby suddenly says that we should go in. I agreed. I mean we were both...we were both...highly intoxicated at the time. Our judgement was so, so bad. I wish...I wish…oh, I can’t do this!” Her face falls into her hands and her shoulders start to heave as she cries heavily into her hands. Castiel stands up and walks over to her, kneeling down and placing a tentative hand on her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand you’re grieving, Ms. Smalls. But we really need you to walk us through that night.” Castiel says, just barely above a whisper. He feels Dean’s eyes on him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m—</span>
  <em>
    <span>hic</span>
  </em>
  <span>—trying.” Kendra sputters, grabbing another tissue. “Sorry, sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s quite alright,” Dean holds a hand up. “Just don’t skip over any detail.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Kendra nods, and she takes a deep breath before continuing. “Robby and I went into the house. It was definitely old and dusty, had cobwebs all over the place, and I could tell that the air was a bit...unclean. It smelled a little musty.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As she speaks, Castiel stands up and makes his way back to the couch to sit next to Dean.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“W-we made our way up the stairs, laughing and giggling. Robby kept talking about g-ghosts. We never really b-believed that crap, you know? He just kept trying to scare me. And I noticed that on the walls, there were these pictures. They all had this c-couple in them. I guess they, um, owned the house previously. Then we went into this r-room, that kind of looked like a master bedroom…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kendra’s words fade away as Castiel turns his head to look at a picture resting on a nearby table. In the photo, Kendra is showing off an engagement ring, and Robby is behind her, kissing her cheek. Kendra has a huge smile on her face—this photo must have been taken right after he proposed. They look unbelievably happy. Robby is kissing her like she’s the only thing in the world. They were obviously in love.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel bites at his lip. He knows what it’s like to be in love. And now that he’s human, his emotions are more pronounced. He hates it—the way his emotions are shown openly. It’s hard to control, hard to keep them from approaching the surface.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to keep them from Dean. Because if Dean finds out about why he’s not sleeping—then he’ll know...</span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t feel the same way. You’re useless to him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And so that’s when you heard this woman yelling at you to leave?” Dean asks, snapping Castiel out of it. Castiel turns back and looks at Kendra, who’s now more hysterical than before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-yes,” she sniffles. “She started shouting at me. To run. Run as far away as I could.” Kendra wipes at her eyes. “At the time, I thought she was shouting at both of us, so I took off, thinking my f-fiance was behind me. B-but when I got outside, the front door slammed behind me, locking it entirely. I couldn’t get in. I called 9-1-1.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And when they arrived, that’s when they found your fiance’s body?” Dean tilts his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kendra nods. “They said he was bashed by a beer bottle to the side of his head. Glass everywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel clears his throat. “Before you saw this woman, did you feel the temperature drop at all?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kendra looks at him, completely puzzled. Dean turns his head to the side to shoot him the same look. “Yes,” Kendra says, “I mentioned that before.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel glances at Dean, feeling the heat rise to his face. “Sorry, um, just confirming it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s still giving him a weird look. Castiel turns back to Kendra, trying to ignore it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I, um,” Kendra’s bottom lip quivers. “I don’t know what to do with myself these days. My family doesn’t believe me—saying that there was just someone else in the house. But I saw this woman vanish and reappear. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <span> her.” She covers her mouth and sobs. “Why couldn’t she kill me too?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean and Castiel share a quick glance. Dean clears his throat. “We’re very sorry for your loss. Can you excuse my partner and I for a quick moment?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kendra nods. “Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean stands up and gestures for Castiel to follow him into the other room. Castiel obliges, stealing one more glance at the photo on the table before walking completely into the other room. Dean turns arounds and crosses his arms. “You zoned out again, didn’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel sighs. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you insisting on working this case, Cas? You’re missing necessary information. I still think you should be trying to sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel narrows his eyes. “Me being alone in a motel room or the bunker wouldn’t make me sleep either. I might as well be </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do something useful.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. He sighs before letting his hand fall back to his side. “Fair point.” He digs through his pocket and pulls out his phone, dialing Sam’s number. It rings twice before Sam picks up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sammy,” Dean holds the phone between them. “Did you get anything?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yep,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sam responds, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“most likely a ghost we’re dealing with. Riley told me that her and her boyfriend were up in the master bedroom of the house…” he coughs. “...you know, drinking. They wanted to hide from parents, and it seemed that they had the bright idea to go into the abandoned house. Ghost appeared, screamed at Riley to get out of the house and run, before locking the door. Body found with blunt force trauma to the head.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Beer bottle?” Dean asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sam replies, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“how did you know?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Same story on our end.” Dean fumbles with his collar. Castiel tries not to stare at Dean’s exposed neck. “Do we know anything about the last owners of that house?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s rustling on the other line. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Not yet. I’ve just finished talking to Riley.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Dean says, “Cas and I just finished talking to Kendra. Do you want us to pick you up and then we can go to the morgue and see if the depictions match up?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sounds good. I’ll be waiting.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, see you soon, Sammy.” He hangs up and puts the phone back into his pocket, turning to face the former angel. “What are you thinking?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel shrugs. “Probably a ghost. Seems to have a vengeance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Most ghosts have vengeance, Cas. That’s usually why they stick around.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever. We should probably tell Kendra we’re leaving,” Castiel turns his back on Dean. He knows his tone is sharp. He can’t find it in him to care. He walks into the other room and spots Kendra walking around, fixing the pillows on the couch. “Ms. Smalls? Thank you so much for your time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Kendra sniffles, “you’re welcome. Thanks for listening. And for not looking at me like I was crazy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean smiles and hands her a card. “If you think of anything else pertaining to that night, call and let us know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I will,” Kendra replies, and walks them towards the front door. Dean and Castiel are about halfway out the door when she says “wait.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two turn around and she continues.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If...I am crazy and it really was just some psycho killer hiding out in the house, please arrest that bitch.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods, pressing his lips into a thin smile. “Don’t you worry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kendra smiles, a single tear falling down her face. She wipes it with her sleeve before closing the door. Castiel’s hands find solace in his pockets as he turns around and walks with Dean back to the car.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Poor woman,” Castiel comments.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dean replies, unlocking the car. “Did you see those pictures? That was one happy couple.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Castiel nods, getting into the Impala. “It’s a shame.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Putting the key into the ignition, Dean smirks. “It’s why we’re gonna gank the son-of-a-bitch before it kills anyone else.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel nods in agreement, before turning to face the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s definitely blunt force trauma to the head,” Sam comments as they look at the two bodies. Castiel narrows his eyes and moves one of the victim’s hair to get a closer look at the wound. Right at the temple lies an awful wound. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Robert was apparently killed using a beer bottle.” Dean murmurs, playing with his badge. “Must’ve been some brutal swing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Was the other victim also killed with a beer bottle?” Castiel shifts his focus from the body and turns to look at Sam.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam nods. “Yeah, I think so.” He crosses his arms. “I think we may have found a pattern.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean snorts. “Two victims ain’t exactly a pattern.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel rolls his eyes as the two brothers begin to bicker. He walks over to a nearby wall and rests against it, leaning his head back. He opens and closes his fists a couple of times, grimacing slightly at the clamminess. He exhales, closing his eyes as he sticks his hands back in the pockets of his trenchcoat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Useless.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel clenches his teeth, and his eyes squeeze tighter. He balls his fist up in his pockets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They don’t even want you around.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly the room is very loud. Sam and Dean’s arguing stings his ears, and he feels his heart rate speeding tenfold. There’s so much information running through his head. It’s loud. It’s too much.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Useless. Useless.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“SHUT UP!” Castiel slams his fist against a nearby table. Dean and Sam, startled, stop arguing and look at him. Castiel continues to breathe heavily, staring at his fist on the table for a brief moment before glancing slowly upwards towards the brothers, their faces painted with shock. Castiel swallows nervously as he regains his composure. “I—sorry. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean blinks. “Uh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tries a more careful approach. “Cas...everything alright?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel runs a hand through his hair. His other hand twitches nervously in his pocket. “Yeah, just—I’m fine. Sorry. I didn’t...mean to snap like that. It was just…loud.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Loud?” Dean arches an eyebrow. “It was...</span>
  <em>
    <span>loud?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam holds a hand out—a signal for Dean to stop. “Sorry, Cas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean shoots him an odd look, before turning to give the same look towards Castiel. Castiel averts his gaze, shame bubbling inside of him. He didn’t mean to snap at all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now they hate you even more.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s eyes widen, gaze bouncing around the room. “I’m gonna go wait in the car.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He leaves, not looking back to see Sam and Dean watching him with concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You guys want some food?” Sam asks when they get back to the motel room. “I can run out and go get some. I know I’m a little starved.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods. “Me? Absolutely. Cas?” He looks over to Castiel, who’s found solace on the couch, fumbling with one of the pillows. Castiel glances upwards and nods once, before looking back down. The couch pillow is safe. It doesn’t judge him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam leaves, closing the door behind him with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>click.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Castiel doesn’t move his head; just continues fumbling with the frilly ends of one of the pillows. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He feels someone’s eyes on him, and he reluctantly tears away from the pillow to match Dean’s stare. Castiel suddenly feels nervous under the gaze, shifting a bit and biting his lip. “What?” he asks weakly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean eyes him suspiciously. “Cas, man, what the hell is up with you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s bullshit,” Dean shakes his head and makes his way over to the couch. “Come on, spill it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Castiel stands up as soon as Dean sits down. His heart begins to race again. He wishes it would stop. His hand swipes through his hair. “I—I’m fine. I don’t need to talk about anything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean scoffs. “There you are with your hand in your hair again. Cas, you’ve been zoning out and irritable lately. Now, I want to know what the hell is going on. You’re not sleeping and there has to be a reason.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, stop.” Castiel presses, shaking his head and turning away. His chest is starting to feel tight. “It’s not something that I can talk about.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean stands up cautiously. “Of course it is. Cas, it’s me. You can tell me anything. I just want to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel doesn’t respond, instead nervously wiping his hands on his jacket.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean sighs, “you told me yesterday that your mind wouldn’t shut up. What did you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel doesn’t give him a response. Another hand through his hair. His heart is racing faster than he ever thought it could. It suddenly feels very warm in the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You are useless. They don’t want you. He doesn’t want you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas…” A hand touches his shoulder. “Please. What did you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “I—” Castiel’s breath hitches as his bottom lip quivers. He looks down, still refusing to turn around and face Dean. “I don’t know what it is. It’s like my brain keeps...telling me things. And it’s all I can focus on. And—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His chest tightens and he feels his breath becoming more shallow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I can’t stop it. It’s all I hear. Like a constant voice in the back of my head degrading me. I can’t find peace, because all—” Castiel spins around and grips at his hair. “Because all I fucking hear is ‘Cas, you’re useless. They don’t want you. They hate you. You’re nothing. You’re. </span>
  <em>
    <span>NOTHING.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ You know why I can’t fucking sleep, Dean? It’s because lying in my bed, that’s the only thing in my brain. I’m nothing without my fucking grace!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s eyes widen as he tries to steady Castiel, who is beginning to shake. “Woah, Cas—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Castiel slaps his hands away. “If I just so happen to fall asleep, you know, after my brain berates me for hours, then you know what I dream about? I dream about you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying in my arms,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and me, not being able to fucking do anything about it! And you’re looking at me, praying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I heal you. But I can’t! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>CAN’T FUCKING HEAL YOU!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas! Cas,” Dean places his hands on each of Castiel’s shoulders. “It’s okay! It’s okay!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Castiel tries to struggle out of the grip. His face feels wet. He doesn’t remember when he started crying. “No. It’s not okay!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, it is!” Dean pulls Cas closer, enveloping him into a hug. “It’s okay! You’re okay. Cas, you’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel stops struggling and collapses against him, face buried in Dean’s right shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry I can’t heal you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas, god, Cas.” Dean’s hand finds the back of Castiel’s head. “It’s okay. You’re not useless.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Castiel murmurs into Dean’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m shaking. It’s hard to breathe. I can’t—” he inhales sharply. “I can’t breathe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s hand slowly caresses Castiel’s hair. “You’re having what’s known as an anxiety attack. Sammy used to get them a lot when we were young.” He puts his hands on either side of Castiel’s face and pulls him away, looking him in the eyes. “Cas, I need you to breathe with me, can you do that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Breathe with you?” Castiel can’t stop his shaking. “I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, you can. Watch me.” Dean inhales slowly. “Come on, breathe in.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel sucks in his breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep inhaling, one, two, three, four. Now hold it.” Dean’s thumb swipes at Castiel’s cheek. “Keep holding it, now exhale for eight seconds.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel releases his breath as Dean counts to eight. Dean nods, and gestures for him to repeat it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, keep doing this. Here we go: inhale.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For what seems to be forever, that’s all they do. Castiel breathes with Dean, and Dean breathes with Castiel. And the former angel’s heart rate slows, and he feels himself stop shaking. His tears are still flowing, probably out of embarrassment. Dean whispers another “it’s okay” as he takes his thumb and wipes away some of Castiel’s tears.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas, why didn’t you tell me any of this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel averts his gaze. “I didn’t want you to see me as weak.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This? This doesn’t make you weak, Cas.” Dean shakes his head. “It just makes you </span>
  <em>
    <span>human.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel doesn’t respond.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas, look at me, please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel slowly lifts his gaze to match Dean’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You are not useless. You’re my best friend. Whether you’re juiced up, or not, you are important to me. And you’re important to Sammy.” His hands shift to grab Castiel’s shoulders. “Your brain is lying to you, Cas. It really is. It’s being a big, fat, dirty liar. Because Sam and I love you. Seriously. I only didn’t want you to come with us because I was worried about you. I’m sorry if you ever thought otherwise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I want…” Castiel rubs his eyes. “I’m exhausted.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods, releasing his grip on Castiel. “Why don’t you sleep for a bit?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I…” Castiel’s eyes widen. “I can’t, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure you can.” Dean smiles, and walks over to one of the beds. He lies down and pats the side next to him. “C’mere.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it,” Dean shakes his head. “Just trust me. C’mere. Lie down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s hand twitches nervously, but he obliges, walking over to the bed and lying down, keeping a rather hefty space in between him and Dean. Dean softly shakes his head again and motions for Castiel to move closer. He shifts—an inch at a time—and Dean keeps gesturing for him to come closer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas, just—” Dean sighs and pats his chest. “Lay your head here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“On your chest?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Dean replies, “c’mon, trust me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel looks at him with an odd expression before tentatively placing his head on Dean’s chest. He can hear Dean’s heart beating, and it’s chilling how Castiel feels an instantaneous wave of relief—it’s oddly relaxing. Dean’s hand drifts to Castiel’s hair, his fingers brushing through it with soft, delicate motions. Castiel swallows as he lets himself ease into it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean begins, his voice just above a whisper. “I know your mind is telling you a lot of things right now. So I’m gonna drown ‘em out. I’ll talk until you fall asleep. And I’ll talk about how great you are. How you saved me from Hell, and how you did so much for me and for Sammy. You’ve been with us through thick and thin and you’re so appreciated, Cas. Really. And as for your angel mojo, I don’t give a damn about that, Cas, I really don’t. I just care that you’re alive. That you’re kicking. That you’re with us. That you’re with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Dean swallows and continues to stoke Castiel’s hair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel closes his eyes and just lets himself listen to Dean’s heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of Dean’s chest every time he breathes. He lets himself relax into Dean’s touch, focusing on the calming gesture.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re okay, Cas. I promise,” Dean murmurs. “And you’re not useless, nor worthless, nor anything else your brain paints you as. It’s okay to sleep. I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The last thing Castiel remembers is the feeling of lips pressed to his forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel wakes up with a jolt, blinking slowly as he lifts his head up. His eyes focus in on Sam, his laptop screen illuminating his face. The room is dark, as is the window. “Sam?” He asks, groggily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam turns his head to face Castiel. “Hey,” Castiel can see him smile. “You’re awake.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel glances around him. He’s somehow under the covers, and Dean is nowhere to be found. “How long was I…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eight hours.” Sam replies. “Zonked. Out cold. Like a light.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel furrows his brows at him before sitting up, rubbing his eyes. “Where is Dean?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam shuts his laptop and reaches over to turn on a lamp. “Dean went out to the cemetery to burn the body.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel blinks. “Wh—</span>
  <em>
    <span>alone?</span>
  </em>
  <span> And we know the ghost?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Relax,” Sam holds a hand up. “I came back with food and you were passed out on Dean. Told me what happened and we stayed here and did some more research. Found out that our ghost is the spirit of Diane Xander. Killed by her abusive, drunk husband by—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A beer bottle.” Castiel answers, running a hand through his hair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You got it.” Sam smirks, walking over to sit by Castiel. “We found out where she’s buried. One of us wanted to stay here in case you woke up, though. Rock-Paper-Scissored it to see who goes out into the night to dig. Dean lost, of course, so here we are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Castiel murmurs, his cheeks tinting slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Dean told me about your whole anxiety thing. Look, I get that. I used to get those attacks like that all the time as a kid. They’re scary.”   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Castiel mutters, averting his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam pats him lightly on the back. “We got you, you know that? You’re our friend and you mean a lot to us. Whether you are an angel or not, you’re our best friend. I love you, man. And Dean may not always say it out loud, but he loves you too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel turns his head to look at him. “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam nods, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, yeah. Look, Dean isn’t one for sappy talks. He’s what I like to call emotionally constipated.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A snort escapes Castiel, and the two share a brief chuckle before Sam continues.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean has a lot of feelings that are hard to really pinpoint. But if there’s one thing that’s remained stagnant through all of these years, it’s that you mean a lot to him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s face softens and he lets out a sigh. “But does he </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s eyebrows raise in confusion, before his lips part in an “o” shape as it dawns on him. Heat floods Castiel’s face. He shouldn’t have said that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Castiel shakes his head. “Don’t answer that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel snaps his head back towards Sam. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam shrugs and scratches his chin. “Look, like I said, Dean’s emotions are hard to read. I think he’s...struggling a lot with himself, probably internally. But,” he turns fully towards Castiel, his tone completely serious. “When I came back to the room earlier, you were passed out on his chest, he was stroking your hair, and he seemed the most content that I’ve seen him in the longest time. He seemed so reluctant to extract himself from you, and he didn’t even want to leave you even when we had a lead on the case. So yeah, I think maybe Dean...does...</span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a noise outside the door before it swings open, revealing a panting Dean covered in dirt. He closes the door behind him and looks at Sam and Castiel sitting up on the bed. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty is awake.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Castiel replies. “Sam told me about the ghost.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s all taken care of.” Dean smiles at Castiel. “Found the bones. Hopefully she can get some peace now. Poor woman.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel frowns. “So she was a victim of domestic violence?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam nods, standing up and stretching. “Yeah, explains why she only went after males who were intoxicated. And told the women to run and get away.” Sam’s face changes and he covers his mouth. “Oh my, she wasn’t telling the women to run away from </span>
  <em>
    <span>her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but rather trying to get her to run from her man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She must’ve assumed that the women would receive the same fate as her.” Dean shakes his head. “It’s depressing. Anyway,” he looks down at himself, grimacing. “I need to shower. We can leave in the morning to go back home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tossing off his jacket and shucking his shoes off into the corner of the room, Dean heads into the bathroom and shuts the door. As soon as it closes, Sam looks back at Castiel and lowers his voice. “I really think he does.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel nods, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam smirks and flops down onto his bed. “Don’t mention it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel spends the entire car ride having a full-fledged debate in his head. Part of him is still berating him, yelling at him about not having grace, while the other half is picturing Dean wrapping an arm around Castiel and stroking his hair softly, pressing soft kisses onto his forehead. He stares out the window, lost in thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hears the sound of the rearview mirror being adjusted slightly, and he turns his head to look at it. In the mirror, Dean’s glancing at him, and when Castiel meets his eyes, Dean smiles before turning back to the road. A blush creeps up on Castiel’s face, and he turns back towards the window, smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel’s back in front of the mirror, glaring at his own reflection. He’s still exhausted, and he rubs at his face warily, sighing. Leaning over the sink, he turns on the faucet and splashes water on his face, grabbing a towel off the rack to dry himself off. There’s two knocks on the door and Castiel reaches over to open it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Dean,” Castiel greets. He puts the towel back on the rack. “Was I taking too long again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not as long as before.” Dean says, tapping his fingers gently against the doorframe. “How was your sleep? I never got to talking with you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was fine,” Castiel looks down at his hands. “I slept well. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean does a once-over of Castiel. “Well that’s good. Um,” he clears his throat awkwardly. “If you need help sleeping again, you know, uh, where my room is.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel turns to catch Dean’s eye. “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods, his lips turning upwards into a thin smile. He turns to walk away when Castiel reaches a hand out to stop him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean turns around, a concerned look placating his face. “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we talk?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A small smile forms on Dean’s face. “Of course, Cas. Wanna go in my room?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they get to Dean’s room, Castiel makes a beeline to the other side, awkwardly fumbling with his hands. Dean closes the door behind him and walks towards the former angel. “What did you want to talk about?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um,” Castiel runs a hand through his hair. He feels nervous. “I really...liked what you did. With my hair. I felt...really relaxed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Dean purses his lips. “You want me to do it again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Dean responds, and he lies down on the bed. He shifts over to the right side and pats down for Castiel to lay down next to him. Castiel obliges, slipping under the covers and moving to lay his head down over Dean’s shoulder and chest. Dean slips a hand into Castiel’s hair and starts moving his hand, softly stroking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel feels that warm feeling spread through him again. He feels at peace. “Thank you,” he whispers softly. Dean smiles down at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They continue in silence, Dean petting Castiel’s hair softly and Castiel listening to the rhythmic hum of Dean’s heart. Suddenly Dean clears his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean says, in a somewhat serious tone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel slightly shifts his head to look up at him. “Hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I know. You said that earlier. That you and Sam—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Dean shakes his head, his voice cracking. “I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel sits up, eyes widening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you so much I can hardly stand it sometimes,” Dean sighs, placing a pillow behind his back to support him. “I worry so much about you. Because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> no longer an angel. You can’t do these super cool tricks in combat anymore, and it’s so dangerous. I just don’t want to lose you, Cas. If I had known that me being overprotective would have given you so much anxiety, I would have explained myself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel blinks. “You love me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve loved you for years.” Dean looks at him. “And I don’t mean as a friend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You kissed my forehead.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you were asleep already,” Dean mutters, a little red.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I liked it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean tosses him a shy smile. “Did you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel nods, and then sighs. “I just—I don’t want to be this </span>
  <em>
    <span>burden</span>
  </em>
  <span> on you. Now that I’m what you call...</span>
  <em>
    <span>anxiety ridden</span>
  </em>
  <span>…I don’t exactly know how to handle myself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Dean lays a hand on top of Castiel’s. “That’s what Sam and I are here for.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel smiles at him. “Thank you, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean returns the smile. “Anytime, Cas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He places a hand on Castiel’s cheek, and leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. Castiel moves his head up, and Dean pauses. Castiel blinks at him, staring into Dean’s piercing green eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean kisses him. Closes the gap between them with a gentle press of lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean pulls away and lies back down. “Let’s go to sleep, Cas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel nods and settles back onto Dean’s chest. Dean continues his hair stroking, and Castiel continues to count Dean’s heartbeats.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His mind isn’t loud at the moment. He doesn’t hear his brain screaming. Doesn’t feel like his chest is clawing at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just peace. He feels peace.  </span>
</p>
<p>
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</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
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</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>anyway kudos and comments are super appreciated!!</p>
<p>follow my <a href="http://www.twitter.com/deancaspls">twitter </a>for more FUN ;'')</p></blockquote></div></div>
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